Brother's Keeper
by bourbon
Summary: Woody has always taken care of everyone. But is Jordan strong enough to take care of him when tragedy strikes his life? WJ pairing. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

_My fics have been pretty light lately, but after TPTB decided to send W&J back to square one at the end of "Embraceable You" (GRRR!), I'm not feeling so fluffy right now! So, I'm going to my dark and angsty place, and I'm taking Woody and Jordan with me!_

_This takes place IMMEDIATELY after the lovely end of "Skin and Bone," with Woody and Jordan still on the sofa at the morgue._

_Warning: Character death._

XXXXXXXXX

They sat that way for a long while.

He had comforted her countless times in the past, folded her tiny frame against his sturdy chest. But as he sat, eyes closed, with his head against her shoulder, Jordan realized she had never seen him as as small and vulnerable as this.

He had taken care of her, Cal, everyone for so long. Years, really. Who took care of Woody?

She leaned over and skimmed his forehead with her lips. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at her.

"You're not alone, Woody," she whispered. He cocked his head and wrinkled his forehead, as if it were all finally sinking in for the first time.

Her fingers were still intertwined with his. He raised her hand to his lips and planted a tender kiss in the center of her palm. "I know, Jordan."

There was a small, airless instant where his blue eyes softened and looked into hers. No one spoke. She leaned in almost imperceptibly, her lips parted. His mouth curled into a gentle smile, and his eyes flickered shut.

She shut her eyes, too, and leaned in toward him until she could feel the heat rise from his body. His mouth was achingly close to hers.

And then they were jarred to awareness by the insistent buzzing of Woody's cell phone.

"I'm not answering it..." he whispered hoarsely.

"Woody..." she chastized and leaned back against the sofa in resignation. "You've got to."

He sighed heavily and reached for his phone. His face fell as he read the incoming name on the display. "_Cal..."_ He snapped the phone shut and jammed it back on his belt.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence while the phone continued to ring and then dropped into voice mail. She reached over and stroked his arm, but the intimate moment had been irrevocably broken by the phone call. He stared straight ahead out the window into the black night.

The phone began to ring again and he yanked it off his belt. "You're supposed to be on a plane back to Kewaunee!" he growled at the phone as it continued to ring. "You're not going to do this to me, Cal!"

As if in response, the phone stopped in mid-ring, and then began immediately to buzz again.

"I'm not answering, Jordan. I'm not."

"Woody," she started gently, "What if something's wrong?"

"That's the whole point, Jordan. He expects me to ride to his rescue every time he screws up. Well, I'm sick of it. He's a grown man. He's got to learn to take care of himself."

She held up her hands in agreement. "I know, I know. But..."

Finally, he jumped to his feet and snapped open the phone. "What do you want, Cal?" His voice was flat. There was a silence while Cal responded. Jordan couldn't make out his words, but she could hear the panicked urgency of his voice. "No. No, Cal. I don't care...that's _your_ fault...Walk. Hitchhike. Call a cab...I don't care...I don't care if it is a bad neighborhood...No. Goodbye," he said and snapped the phone shut with finality. He paced the room with clenched fists.

"What is it?"

"His rental car ran out of gas. He doesn't have any money to call a cab, so he wants me to come get him and drive him to the airport."

"Well, that doesn't seem like too much to ask," she started hesitantly.

"This time, it is," he turned toward her and hissed angrily. "I'm through with him."

She sat for a moment looking up into his hardened face and then rose and reached for her jacket.

"Where are you going, Jordan?"

"To give Cal a ride to the airport."

"Jordan..."

"Look," she turned to him. "I don't want to get in the middle of this, Woody. I know you've got your reasons for not wanting to help him, but he saved my life tonight. Giving him a lift to the airport is the least I can do." She opened her own cell phone and had her thumb poised on the button to call Cal.

Woody stood resolutely for a moment before taking the phone from her hand with a resigned sigh. "Wait, Jordan. I know where he is. I'll come with you. I don't want you going into that neighborhood by yourself."

She smiled and handed him his jacket.

"But this is for _you_, Jordan. Not for him."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Her SVU wound its way through the desolate neighborhood.

"What the hell was he doing down here? It's nowhere near the airport."

"I don't know," Jordan said with foreboding.

"I don't like this, Jordan. This is one of his scams. I know it." He shook his head. "Turn around. We're getting out of here."

"What? No! Woody, if it _is_ one of his scams, then he might really need our help."

"You're too trusting, Jordan. You don't know him. And I'm not getting you involved in this. You could have gotten killed tonight."

She pulled the SVU over to the curb. "Well, it's too late anyway. We're here." She looked out at the derelict building next to her: an old, abandoned nightclub. This neighborhood had experienced renewed growth twenty years earlier, and then had died just as quickly. The area was covered with high-end stores and restaurants that had simply been shuttered and left to crumbled. "So, where's Cal?"

"Good question," Woody muttered. "Stay in the car, Jordan."

He slid out of the car and walked tentatively toward the front door of the club, which had been propped ominously open. They had been expected. He heard the sound of a car door slam behind him and Jordan's footsteps on the pavement as she sidled next to him.

"_Jordan_..." he groaned.

"Come on. You didn't really expect me to stay in the car, did you?"

He said nothing but eased inside the building. "Cal? You here?" His voice echoed in the darkened and empty nightclub. The floor was still littered with broken chairs and overturned drink tables. "Cal?"

"I'm here, Woody," Cal's voice sounded, thin and strained.

They carefully stepped over a patch of broken glass and onto what had been the old dance floor. There was a thin stream of light coming from somewhere, and they blinked as their eyes adjusted to the black.

Cal was sitting there in one of the old chairs, hands clenching his knees.

"Calvin, what are you..." he started, but then Jordan stopped him as her hand reached out and gripped his wrist.

"Woody..." He was aware then of another figure standing behind Cal with a gun pressed against Cal's head.

"Jesus..." Woody exhaled.

"He said you'd come," the figure said in a heavily accented voice. Woody's heart sank. _Albanian_. It wasn't over yet.

"What have you done, Calvin?" Woody's voice was cold and flat.

"I thought I could take care of it myself. I swear to God, Woody. He wants money. He says he's gonna kill me. He made me call you. You gotta help me, Woody. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. But he says he's gonna kill me. You gotta help." Cal's voice rose to a panicky peak.

Jordan watched Woody from the corner of her eye. She could almost sense the wheels spinning in his mind.

"How much?" he finally said coldly.

"He owes five-thousand," the Albanian said. "But I will settle for twenty-five hundred."

"How very _big_ of you," muttered Jordan. The Albanian smiled back at her with an acid grin.

"Well? You've got twenty minutes to get me the money, or your brother dies."

She wasn't sure what she expected from Woody. Heroics, perhaps. Or an impassioned plea for his brother's life. Something other than this dreadful, empty silence that followed. She watched as the terror grew in Cal's eyes as each second ticked by.

She waited for his response, and when it came, the chill in his voice made her blood run cold. "I don't have it."

"_Woody!" _she hissed, but he stood staring stonily ahead. She whipped around to face the Albanian. "_I'll_ get you the money."

He shrugged indifferently. "You were wrong about your brother," he said blandly to Cal as he pressed the gun into his head. He looked back up at Jordan. "You have twenty minutes."

Jordan swallowed hard and nodded her head rapidly. She had turned to go before Woody had her by the arm. "No. He's my brother. I'll get the money."

"Very well. _Twenty minutes,_" the Albanian repeated. Woody nodded in understanding and slipped his arm around Jordan as they headed for the door. "Oh. And Detective Hoyt? The girl stays."

Jordan sucked in her breath as the Albanian raised his outstretched hand and pointed it towards her head.

"Leave her out of this." The coldness of Woody's voice had been replaced by a heated urgency. "Let her go. I'll stay."

"You weren't willing to help your own brother just a moment ago, and yet you are suddenly concerned for this woman? _Americans_,"he spat with contempt. "You have no sense of family. In Albania, we would die for our own flesh and blood." He let out a sinister chuckle. "The man you killed tonight? He was family. I am settling _all_ his debts. So, who will it be, Detective Hoyt?" He jammed the gun into Cal's neck. "Your own brother?" The Albanian turned the gun on Jordan, then. "Or this girl? The decision is yours. But I think one of them must die tonight."

"WAIT! NO!" He threw his hands up in a panic and stepped in front of Jordan. "Don't! I said I'd get you the money!"

The Albanian shook his head. "It's not about the money. It's about something you know nothing of. _Honor._ So, who will it be?"

She could feel her heart begin to thud in her chest. Woody stood numbly for a moment, his eyes darting around the room for some possible plan other than the inevitably that seemed to be hurtling toward them. Cal looked up at them, trembling with fear.

"I'm sorry, Woody," Cal said. His voice shook with terrible, resigned emotion.

"Me, too," Woody managed to croak back.

It was over in an instant, then, as Jordan watched on in horror. Woody's hand flew up to his holster and grabbed for his gun, then she heard the sickening pop of the Albanian's gun. He turned to flee, and he and Woody were swallowed by the black that loomed behind them. There was another shot, as she flew down to Cal's side.

It was Woody who emerged from darkness with his gun hanging limply at his side. Jordan was kneeling beside Cal with his hand in hers as a pool of blood spread out from behind his head like a halo. She looked up at Woody, her eyes welled with tears, and slowly shook her head.


	2. Chapter 2

She stood shivering in the late winter air, bathed in the purplish glow of the red and blue sirens. An officer had draped a Boston PD windbreaker around her shoulders, and she gave numb "yes" and "no" answers to his unending series of questions.

She watched Woody standing across the street leaning against a police car, nodding his head grimly as one of the senior detectives spoke to him.

The older man left Woody with a sympathetic clap on the shoulder, and Jordan crossed to him. She placed an uneasy hand on his back.

"I'm so sorry, Woody..." It seemed inadequate. She had repeated it over and over again as they waited there in the dank room for help. He had made a frantic 911 call, but they had both known it was too late as Cal lay motionless, open-eyed, in a widening pool of blood.

He had paced at first, saying nothing. Then, as the grim realization settled in, he had collapsed onto the floor, elbows on knees, head buried in hands until the first, faint keening of sirens could be heard in the distance. Then, he had snapped up onto his feet with steely reserve, ever the professional.

Now, Cal was gone, taken unceremoniously out on a gurney covered in a white sheet. He was followed into a waiting van by the body of the Albanian that Woody had shot dead inside the abandoned nightclub.

She had tried desperately to comfort him with words or the touch of her hand, but just has he was doing now, he would gently loosen the grip on his arm and insist that he was all right.

"I'll need to call Uncle Bob," he started slowly. His voice was thick and rough. "He can call the cousins. I've lost track of most of them..."

She tried again, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm. "Woody, you don't have to do this right now."

He continued, unhearing. "I'll have to make arrangements to fly the body home."

Jordan shuddered a little at his choice of words. Not _Cal_ or _my brother._ _The body._

"Why don't you let me do that, Woody?" she offered gently.

"I'm _fine_, Jordan." He nodded as if to convince himself. An awkward beat passed.

"It wasn't your fault, Woody." He turned to her then, and the look on his face took her breath: a mixture of pain, guilt and disbelief.

The older detective approached again with a weary sigh. "His name was Natos Farna. He'd been in the country for nine months and was already a suspect in a couple of mob executions." Woody's eyes fell to the ground, and the detective gave him another pat on the shoulder. "It was a good kill, Det. Hoyt. I don't think there will be any investigation."

He was gone then, and the cars began to disperse into the night. Woody remained there motionless, his face a frozen mask.

She knew he needed her, but she barely felt equipped to deal with what had happened, herself. She had almost died. She had watched in the horrific instant as Cal had slipped lifelessly onto the floor and looked up at her with vacant eyes. And then she had waited breathlessly after the second gunshot to see who would emerge from the darkness.

How could Woody possibly carry the unbearable burden of what had passed that night? She could only imagine the weight of his guilt and grief, but he stood there, stolid and stoic.

"Woody?" He looked up at her and blinked hard.

"Huh?"

"Let me take you home, okay?"

"No, I'm fine. I just think I should..."

"I'm not going to take no for an answer, Woody."

He nodded once and let her lead him to her car.

XXXXX

They did not speak on the way home.

His apartment seemed unusually empty, somehow, yet filled with poignant reminders. She noticed the stiff old Sears family portrait on the desk of the young Hoyt family, before Woody's mother got sick, before Sheriff Hoyt was gunned down, before Cal's life spiraled out of control.

There was a forgotten dingy t-shirt of Cal's draped over a kitchen chair. She watched as Woody picked it up gingerly and held it in his hand for a long moment. Then, he folded it neatly and placed it on the chair as if the owner would return for it and find it there.

She ached for him, ached to be able to help him through this fog. He moved haltingly through the apartment and finally sat on the edge of the bed. She followed and hovered uneasily in the doorway, unsure of what to say.

Finally, he spoke. "I could have done more."

"No, Woody."

"Why didn't I give him the money? I should have just given him the money."

"Woody..."

His voice rose. "Why did I draw my gun? Maybe if I had just..."

She moved inside the room and sat beside him on the bed. "You had no way of knowing. And you tried. You _did_ try." Her voice broke, and she felt the sting of tears for Cal, for Woody.

She stood and wiped them away quickly before he could see. "Well, I'm sure everyone at the P.D. has heard by now. I can call Garrett and the others, if you'd like. They'll want to know."

She had turned to leave the room when he caught her hand. "No. Please stay." His own eyes were moist with tears. He pulled her gently to him, and she sat back down on the bed. "Don't go."

She wrapped her arms around him; it was all she could do. He shuddered once, and breathed in deeply to stop the tears. He reached out and pulled her closer, clinging to her as if sheltering from a storm.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered. "I'm right here."

They sat like that for a long moment before he fell back onto the bed and rolled onto his side. She curled next to him, stroking his hair with gentle words, before his body finally gave up and let him drift into an uneasy sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

She realized two things that night as she lay with her arms wrapped around Woody.

The first was that she felt powerless to help him. Her mother had been murdered when she was a girl, and the tragedy of it had dragged her down like a dead weight for the past twenty-five years.

Woody had lost his mother, his father, and brother in circumstances that no one should have to suffer. And yet he was determined to bear it all with the same stoicism. She knew it could not be as easy as he wanted it to appear to be.

She wanted to reach into him and find that frightened and broken child that he refused to show her, but she knew that Woody Hoyt had not been allowed to be a child since his mother had died when he was only four, leaving him to raise Cal in the place of a grieving and distant father.

The second thing she learned was that her feelings for him had become confused in the muddle of grief and heartache that flew around her. She had managed to convince herself these last few years that she and Woody were nothing more than friends, the best of friends, but friends nonetheless.

Still, as he had taken her hand in the morgue office it didn't seem quite as clear as that, and now that she held him close to her as his body twisted with heated dreams, it was more unclear than it had ever been.

She waited until he was asleep until slipping away from him. She pulled an old afghan off the sofa and spent a restless night there, replaying the shooting from the night before over and over in her mind.

When she awoke the next morning, she heard him on the phone in the kitchen speaking in hushed tones. She stumbled in sleepily just as he hung up the phone.

"The funeral is the day after tomorrow in Kewaunee," he started quietly. "I've made arrangements with the airlines..." His voice trailed off.

"Oh." It was all she could think to say. She reached out for his arm, but he moved away before she could make contact.

"Coffee's on. I'm going to shave." He brushed past her into the bathroom. A half hour later, he had not returned. she grew worried and tiptoed to the bathroom door.

He stood there gripping the sides of the sink, staring into the mirror. "Woody?"

He flinched and hurriedly picked up his razor. "Do you need to get in here?"

"No." She paused. "If you want to talk..."

"Talking won't change things, Jordan."

"Well, sometimes it..."

"Please, just let me deal with this in my own way, Jordan," he interrupted and turned back to the mirror. "Believe me. I've been through this before."

She nodded and went back into the living room, straightened magazines, emptied the dishwasher, anything to stay busy, until he came back into the room. He stood for a moment in the kitchen with his hands jammed awkwardly in his pockets while she wiped down the counters.

"You don't have to do that, Jordan."

"It's okay. Coffee?"

"Sure."

She poured him a cup, and they both perched in uncomfortable silence on the stools at the kitchen island.

She cleared her throat and began hesitantly. "I was thinking. Maybe I could fly home with you to Kewaunee for the funeral."

He smiled weakly and reached out for her hand. "I'd like that."

XXXXXXXX

Kewaunee was as he had always lovingly described it, she thought on the drive from the airport. As the road twisted up to his Aunt Betty and Uncle Bob's old farmhouse, she thought it all seemed somehow frozen in time fifty years earlier.

Aunt Betty was a stout woman who wore an apron and wept empty, dramatic tears when they walked in the door. She grabbed Woody to her enormous bosom and dabbed at her eyes with a kleenex she kept tucked in the sleeve of her cardigan.

She sent them up to their rooms on the third floor. Woody stopped in front of one of the doors and pushed it open. "This was where Cal and I slept," he said quietly. "After my dad died, Cal and I lived here for a year or so until I graduated from high school." He gave a sad shrug. "Aunt Betty didn't really want us. She had five teenagers of her own to deal with. We were kind of invisible."

She felt her eyes begin to sting with tears, and it was the first of many times her heart split for him in the days that followed.

The funeral was almost unbearable. Woody sat rigid in the front pew. He never let go of Jordan's hand during the Mass. There were a few relatives and one or two of Cal's more reputable friends, but attendance was pitiful.

Later, the family members gathered for dinner at Aunt Betty's house. Jordan found herself with a soggy paper plate of potato salad, wedged on the sofa between two aunts.

"I always knew it would come to this," one aunt clucked. "That Cal was trouble from the get go."

"His parents are rolling in their graves, that's for sure," said the other.

Jordan looked up to see Woody in the doorway with his head dropped in shame. He backed slowly from the room, and then she heard the screen door in the kitchen slam behind him.

She excused herself and followed him out into the back yard. It had flurried earlier that day, dropping a thin white blanket across the farm. The sun had fallen, and the full moon lit the night sky a deep, brilliant blue.

The back yard dipped down through a thicket of trees, and the path led down to a pond at the edge of the farm. Woody was there skittering a stone across the broken crust of ice.

She said nothing but stood silently beside him. "Jordan..." he said without looking at her. "You're going to freeze without your coat." He skimmed another stone onto the pond.

There was a beat as he looked at onto the still water. Finally, he spoke. "We spent Christmas here one year when I was ten. The grown-ups all went to a caroling party and midnight mass on Christmas Eve. Cal had the sniffles, and they left me here all night to take care of him. I was _ten_. '_Woody can handle it. Woody is responsible,_'" he spat sarcastically. "We were watching TV when he sneaked out of the house. When I noticed he was gone, I ran out wearing nothing but my pajamas. He was down here playing ice hockey. Just as I got here, the ice broke, and he fell in. I crawled across the ice and pulled him out with his hockey stick just before he went under. When they all found out what happened, everyone coddled _poor Cal._ He got hot chocolate in bed. He got made over all Christmas day. Me? My dad knocked me into next Tuesday for not keeping an eye on him." He threw another stone and it fell with a crack, leaving a spider web trail across the ice.

"Woody, I know this hasn't been fair..."

"_Fair?" _he snorted. "My mother died when I was four. _Four_. I barely remember what she looks like anymore. My died was murdered by some teenager when I was in tenth grade. I was left to raise Cal by myself, and I failed, and now he's dead. I failed, Jordan. I _failed._"

"Woody, it was wrong for anyone to expect a boy to raise his brother. And you didn't fail, Woody. Cal was a grown man. He made his own choices."

Woody shook his head and turned away from her, walking unevenly along the edge of the water. "I told my mother I would do my best. My dad looked up at me just before he died and asked me to take care of Cal. I swore I would."

Jordan staggered along the bank after him. "Woody, you did your best."

"My best?" He called back at her over his shoulder to her. "Did I? My best wasn't good enough, Jordan. I stood there and said I didn't have the money to save my brother's life. Was that my best?"

"Stop blaming yourself. You tried to save him."

"And it got him killed, Jordan." He was stumbling blindly along the water's edge now, his voice breaking with emotion.

"It wasn't your fault, Woody."

"What kind of man am I, Jordan? I stood there and was willing to let him die. What kind of person does that make me?" he raged with his fists clenched.

"You're a _human being_, Woody. And you're the best one I know." He came to an abrupt halt, his chest heaving breathlessly. She caught up with him and placed hand on his back. "Woody?"

He turned suddenly and swept her in to him with one hand on the small of her back. His hands were on both sides of her face, kissing her roughly. She found herself responding, swept up in the intense emotion of the moment, before she stepped gently away from him.

He looked back at her questioningly.

"Woody, I..."

She could make out the look on his face in the moonlight. What was it? Regret? Betrayal? He turned quickly and she watched, shivering in the darkness, as he disappeared into the black grove of trees.


	4. Chapter 4

Her shoes were soaked through by the time she made her way up the bank and into the warm kitchen. The aunts were swapping recipes and loading the leftovers into Tupperware.

"Has anyone seen Woody?" Jordan asked breathlessly. "Has he come through here?"

The women stopped chattering long enough to shrug.

She pushed through the kitchen and up the stairs to the third floor past his empty room. She doubted it had been changed much since he left home a decade earlier. There were two twin beds, a dresser, and a desk. The walls were bare except for a lone University of Wisconsin Badgers pennant. How had Woody managed to become so upbeat and eternally cheerful in this arid environment?

She paced around the third floor, poking through the old books in the hall shelves until bedtime. Every time she would hear the screen door banging shut downstairs, she braced herself for the sound of Woody's footsteps on the stairs, but they didn't follow.

Finally, she slipped between the cool sheets and turned out the bedside lamp in her room. It was after midnight when she finally heard the third floor stairs creak under his weight. She heard the faint click of the hallway light and then his footfall on the floorboards. The light spilled in under her doorway, and she saw his shadow there as he lingered outside her door. She waited for a knock, but after a long moment, the hall light clicked off again and his door shut behind him.

Some hours later, she was aware of a flurry of activity in the hallway. She slid groggily from her bed and cracked open her door. Woody stood there in hunting camouflage.

"Woody? What are you doing? It's like 4AM..."

He turned and gave her a lazy smile. "Oh, hey, Jordan. Did I wake you?"

"Well...yeah."

"Sorry. I'm just going hunting with my Uncle Bob." He zipped up his camo jacket.

"Hunting? Nice."

"Relax, Jordan. Knowing my Uncle Bob, we're more likely to come home with a large pepperoni pizza than Bambi. It's just a male bonding thing," he laughed casually.

"Oh." She folded her arms across her chest as he busied himself with his backpack. "I thought we were leaving this morning."

"Oh, yeah. I changed my flight reservations until tomorrow. You're welcome to stay, too." She said nothing but shook her head in confusion. "Listen, Jordan," he started uneasily. "I'm sorry about last night. The _kiss_. I don't know what I was thinking. It didn't mean anything."

"Don't give it another thought," she muttered with a weak smile, but her heart had fallen. It had been the wrong time and the wrong place for it, but she had suddenly realized that it was not altogether unwelcome.

"Great. As long as we're square." He slung his backpack over his shoulder.

"We're square."

"Great. Hey..." He headed down the stairs. "If I don't see you later, then I'll catch up with you in Boston." And then he was gone.

She had her answer now, how he had survived in this atmosphere. Perhaps he really _was_ this happy for the most part, but there was a large part of his life that was shielded by this cheery facade.

She should have taken the next flight out of Kewaunee, but she didn't. She called the airline and changed her reservations. Aunt Betty had gone into town to shop, so she was alone most of the day, rattling around the farmhouse.

Woody and Uncle Bob finally returned late in the day with a bucket of chicken for dinner. It was strange, how they all sat there at the huge dining room table, chattering cheerily about the weather or the meal. It was as if Cal had never existed. Perhaps to his aunt and uncle, he never really _had_.

But Cal had meant everything to Woody. He had made a life's promise to look after him. How could he sit there chewing on a drumstick and not seem to care that Cal was gone? She poked at her mashed potatoes and then excused herself.

She stood in her room, jamming her things into her suitcase. She was angry, hurt, bewildered, unable to sort through her own feelings of grief. She was unaware of Woody's presence until he shifted his weight on the creaky floorboards. He had been standing in the door of her room.

"What are you doing?" he tried to ask conversationally.

"_Packing_," She spat.

"Oh." He took a tentative step inside her room. "Jordan, are you mad at me?"

She gently closed her suitcase with a heavy sigh. "No. I just...don't get it."

"Get what?"

"_This_. All _this._ It's like the Walton Family Thanksgiving down there."

He shrugged. "What are you talking about?"

She went to him. "Woody, it's _me._ You don't have to do this. I know this is hard, but it's _okay_ to feel."

He turned away from her. "Jordan, I don't want to talk about this."

She cut him off in the doorway. "No, and that's just it. Yes, you're brave. You're everybody's rock. But your brother was just _murdered_ in front of you, Woody."

"I _know_ that, Jordan. Don't you think I know that?"

"So, you show it by making a run to KFC?"

"Don't, Jordan," he said through clenched teeth. "_Don't_. This is not your business."

"You're right." She held up her hands in a calming gesture. "You're right. But I care about you, Woody. This has got to be tearing you up inside. And I'm worried about you. I _know_ what you're going through."

He spun around and pointed an accusing finger in her face. "Look, just because I lost someone I love and don't moan and complain about it for the next twenty-five years, doesn't mean I'm not feeling."

She blinked back the tears that had popped into her eyes, and there was a rough silence between them.

"Jordan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." She turned her back on him and went to her suitcase. "Jordan, please."

She shook her head and bit her lip. "It's okay. Just go."

"Jordan..." He came in the room and stood there awkwardly as she tugged at the zipper. "This is the only way I know how to be."

She looked up at him in comprehension. "I know."

"I've always had to be strong for everyone. Always had to be the role model. The Eagle Scout. Cal got away with _everything_. And everyone made excuses for him and blamed me. Cal's failing math? Woody needs to tutor him. Cal got suspended from school? Woody should keep a better eye on him. Cal's hooked on drugs? Woody isn't paying enough attention. _Cal Cal Cal_. My whole life."

He ran his hand through his hair in frustration and began to pace the room.

"When I was a senior in high school, I got in shape, made the cross-country team. I was just starting to be known for myself, and not just as Cal Hoyt's squeaky clean older brother. There was this girl, too. I worshipped her all year long, and she finally agreed to go to the prom with me. Then, she stood me up. Later that night, I found her with Cal in the back seat of my car. But I just laughed and forgave him like it didn't matter, because that's what Woody Hoyt always does."

"So, I came to Boston. And I like my life. I'm happy. I meet this woman that I can't stopping thinking about. We've been stuck in the friend zone for a few years, but I'm still crazy about her. Then _he _shows up. Thinking that I'm gonna rescue him. And you know what? He's right. And I hate him for it. I hate _myself_. That night in the nightclub, I said I didn't have the money. I was bluffing, trying to buy time, but for just a fraction of a second, I was hoping he'd pull the trigger. And Cal would be out of my life for good." And then, in a small voice: "And now he is."

His shoulders dropped and he looked away from her. His chin began to quiver, and the tears spilled out of his eyes. "He's gone, Jordan. He's dead. My brother's dead. I didn't mean for it to happen."

His body began to rock with heavy sobs, and he finally surrendered himself. She flew to him and wrapped her arms around him. "I know you didn't."

"I miss him so much." She eased him to the edge of the bed and held him there against her. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck and clutched at the back of her shirt with clenched hands until his sobs eased.

He was exhausted and drained when it was done. She helped him down the hallway where he took a long, hot shower. He appeared silently in her doorway later as she readied herself for bed.

Without a word, she took his hand and led him to her bed. She slid in next to him and folded the quilt up over them. She always thought that if she ever slept next to Woody, that it would be different than this. But this was nice.

They curled their bodies around each other and slept that way until morning.


	5. Chapter 5

_Here's the last chapter. Sorry it took so long to update! Things have been crazy around the bourbon household!_

_It's a pretty short chapter, but my head is swimming with ideas after that AWESOME season finale last night! I can't wait for September! _

XXXXXXXX

Jordan woke shortly after dawn. Woody slept still. She propped up on one elbow and watched him for awhile and ran a hand down his rough cheek.

He stirred when he saw her there. "'Morning, Jordan," he said groggily. "Don't let my Aunt Betty catch you. She grounded Cal for a month once for trying to sneak a girl up here."

There was the first hint of a smile she had seen from him in days. She smiled back and smoothed his dark hair. "I'll take my chances."

His smile faded, and he was silent for a long moment. "We've got a couple of hours until we have to get to the airport. Come with me. I want to walk around the old place before we go." His voice dropped. "I don't think I'll ever come back here."

He eased himself out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants. She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. "Are you sure you don't want to be alone?"

He turned to her and offered his hand. "No, Jordan. I don't want to be alone."

XXXXXXXXX

They strolled around the grounds together, mostly in silence. His mind was racing this morning, she knew. He pointed out the remnants of a rope swing on the branch of an old oak tree by the pond where he and Cal had swum during many summer vacations. They passed the old barn where he and Cal had told ghost stories on hot nights.

He laughed a small, bittersweet laugh and walked away from her. She watched as he stood some distance away with his back to her. When he returned, his eyes were dark and red-rimmed.

He slipped his hand into hers. "Come on. It's time."

XXXXXXXX

He said little on the flight home. There was an awkward moment when she pulled up in front of his building. They both fumbled for words as they sat in her car, unsure of how to end things.

"Well, I guess I'd better..." she started with uncertainty.

"No. Please." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "Please. Come up. I could use the company."

She smiled, and they went upstairs. He dropped his bags in the doorway and immediately curled up in his bed, where he slept long and hard.

It was the middle of the night when he finally stumbled into the living room. Jordan sat wrapped in a blanket watching some grade z movie on cable.

"Jordan..." he said with surprise as he rubbed at his eyes. "What are you still doing awake? It's 2AM."

"I don't know." She shrugged. "I thought you might wake up and need something."

She clicked off the TV as he shuffled over and curled next to her on the sofa. She wrapped her arm around him and he leaned his head against her shoulder. It was the same position they had been in at the morgue several days earlier. So much had happened since then.

"Did you really mean what you said before about not going back to Kewaunee?" she finally asked quietly.

"No. I guess not," he answered evenly. "I've got too many reasons to go back there. Three graves to visit."

She nodded, and there was a long silence. She gently stroked his hair.

"I was thinking," he finally said in a small voice. "Cal and me. Why is it we turned out so differently? Why is it he went one way, and I went the other?"

"You're different people, Woody. You made different choices."

"I don't know, Jordan. Maybe in my own way, I'm just as screwed up as he was."

"Show me somebody who's _not_ screwed up," she said ruefully. "I can't imagine going through what you've been through in your life. You are kind and generous and decent and funny, and despite what you've been through, you always manage to see the good in everyone and everything. Believe me, if that's screwed up, there are worse ways to be screwed up. And that's from an expert."

She smiled down at him with humor. She went on gently. "But you're not alone, Woody. You're never alone."

He closed his eyes and curled tighter against her. He slipped his arm around her waist. Somehow in their shared sorrow, they had managed to find each other. There seemed to be a silent understanding as she kissed his cheek. It would come slowly, but they both knew. They weren't alone, neither one of them.

"That kiss in Kewaunee," she said. "So...it really didn't mean anything?" She teased mildly.

"Nah. Not a thing."

"You sure about that?"

"I don't know, Jordan. Maybe when I'm back on my feet, we should try again. Just to be on the safe side."

"Oh, of course. Just to be on the safe side."

"But we'll need to be very thorough. For scientific purposes only." She could hear the traces of a smile in his voice.

She quickly brushed away the tears in her eyes. "Of _course_."

THE END


End file.
